CRIMSON MOUNTAIN (19 page)

And up in her room, Laurel was sitting at the crude little golden oak desk, writing a brief note to Phil Pilgrim.

B
y Tuesday morning of that week, trucks were rolling up Crimson Mountain carrying lumber and brick for the new munitions plant, and workmen were hurrying into town in response to announcements posted on highways and in newspapers, and special notices in many places. A great many came to Mrs. Price’s boardinghouse to secure rooms and board, though many found the price there too high for the wages they were not yet receiving or might not receive at all. Many went about the town searching for other places to live, some of them traveling to a nearby city and returning with tents in lieu of more permanent dwellings.

Thursday evening about eight o’clock there came another telephone call for Laurel, and the man Byrger was at his usual post, on watch again behind the evening paper. That paper made a convenient shelter for his watchful operations.

But it was not Phil Pilgrim’s voice that answered Laurel this time when she gave her grave, quiet “Hello!” It was, nevertheless, a voice she knew.

“Hello!
Hello!
Laurel, is that you?” There was haughty reproach and annoyance in his voice.

“Yes, this is Miss Sheridan.” Laurel’s voice was cool and composed. There was no intimate recognition in it to give the listener a clue.

An offended laugh followed. “Why the formality, Laurel? Don’t you know me?”

“Why surely, Adrian. But it happens there are others in the room. I was only being a bit dignified. How are you? Oh yes, I’m quite well and very busy. I was sorry not to see you before I left, but it couldn’t be helped. Circumstances spoiled my plans, and I didn’t even succeed in calling you up as I promised. I did try once, quite early, but you weren’t back yet, they said. And I’ve been meaning to write a note of apology, but I’ve been so busy since I came that I just didn’t have time. I was sure you would understand. But how in the world did you know where to call me?”

“Oh, I have ways of finding out when I want to very much,” said Adrian loftily. “But what I called you for tonight is that I have something very special to show you, and I’m coming over there in my car around one o’clock tomorrow and get you. So please be ready. Just street clothes will do. We’ll go somewhere for lunch, and then I’m taking you to see something I am sure will please you immensely.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you, I’m sure,” said Laurel, trying to speak interestedly, “but I couldn’t possibly go anywhere tomorrow. I’m busy all day every day except Saturday. I have a job, you know.”

“A
job!
But that’s absurd! I’ll soon finish that! Be ready, please, at one o’clock!”

“That’s quite impossible!” said Laurel coldly. “And I don’t
want
my job finished, thank you. I
like
it. I’m afraid you’ll have to come when I say if you wish to see me.”

“Well, this is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of.
You
with a
job!
What do you think you are doing? Trying to get something back on your cousin for something that doesn’t fit in with your straitlaced notions? Well, then, when
will
your highness come?”

“I tell you I have no day sooner than Saturday. If it’s a mere drive somewhere, not too far away, I’ll be glad to go with you Saturday afternoon. I can be ready by one thirty Saturday.”

“I will call for you at ten o’clock Saturday morning!” said the haughty voice.

“Oh, very well,” said Laurel coldly, “I can arrange to go in the morning instead.”

She was speaking sweetly, with no sign of the annoyance she was feeling. She didn’t want to go riding with Adrian Faber Saturday at any time. she would much prefer to visit Mrs. Gray and get information about the Bible class next week. But she had promised Adrian that she would call him up when she got back to the city after having failed him at his hunt club party, and she must be honorable and polite and make up for that breach of etiquette, of course. Well, perhaps it was as well to get her position with regard to this young man thoroughly defined at once and not be annoyed by him all winter. She must make him understand once and for all that she was a schoolteacher and could not see him every time he chose to call her.

So she listened to his haughty reproving and condescending babble sweetly and let him talk. Meanwhile, the stolid face of Byrger watched her every move from under half-closed eyelids and puzzled over that name “Adrian” that she had spoken. Could that by any means have been Adrian Faber to whom she was talking? But of course not, for that did not fit in with the rest of the picture. Or did it? Not as he had worked it out. It couldn’t be possible that Faber was interested in a girl who appeared to be—well perhaps she wasn’t. He would have to watch her. What time was that she promised to be ready to go somewhere with him? Saturday afternoon? He must make it a point to be where he could watch the house then. Could it be possible they were going up Crimson Mountain? Trying to pry into some government secrets? How much did that girl know, anyway? It certainly was odd he couldn’t get anywhere with talking to her. She must be pretty sharp.

But Laurel, all unaware of the espionage that was being set over herself, went annoyedly up to her room again. Adrian! Why did
he
have to come on the scene now? Oh,
why!

Then suddenly she began to think into her heart and see what was the matter. She was disappointed that the call had not been from Phil Pilgrim. In spite of the fact that she had been talking with him Tuesday night from Mark’s garage and he had told her that he would not be able to call her again that week as he was on duty at the hours when she was free, she had unreasonably hoped that she would hear his voice when she took down the receiver. And then suddenly she laughed at herself. What would Cousin Carolyn say if she knew that she was actually
preferring
a poor, young soldier boy to the great Adrian Faber?
Disappointed
because she had to go with him on a ride instead of with Phil Pilgrim!

Well, it was true.

And only last week she had actually asked herself whether she could ever bring herself to marry Adrian if he should ask her. Though she owned honestly to herself now that she never really had answered yes to her soul’s query about it. Wasn’t that plain enough when she actually went away that Saturday morning to think things over, not sure whether she was coming back for that wonderful party or not? Well, the question was answered for her now. She would never marry Adrian Faber. She couldn’t imagine any thrill coming to her if Adrian should tell her a thousand times that he loved her. In fact, Adrian would not be likely to say those same words. He would put it in some more stilted language. Some less fervent sentence. He would say, “I’m really quite fond of you, my darling, and I am convinced that you would make a marvelous hostess for my home. I could be proud of you going anywhere. And I’m sure you would grace any situation where I might be placed.”

Adrian was much too modern to call any emotion of his
love
.

Then she laughed again. “Well, we’ll just settle any plans like that, my lad,” she remarked to the wall of her boardinghouse room. “I shall be too busy all winter to go on parties and expeditions or spend weekends anywhere with you.” She would say it so firmly that he would see it was not of any use to keep at her. She would show that she was definitely out of the picture as far as he was concerned. And then, of course, he would likely drop her and forget her. Well, that didn’t hurt her any.

Having settled this question definitely, she went on with her study. She was actually getting interested in the study she was pursuing each day to get ready for her class and looking forward with pleasure to being able to impart knowledge she had gained to her pupils.

And then the thought came to her—suppose she had not met Phil Pilgrim that day on the mountainside. Would she perhaps, even now, have been considering whether she wanted to live a life with Adrian Faber? If she had never seen a man like Pilgrim, would she have been satisfied with Faber?

And then her heart shrank back at the thought. No, oh no! Never satisfied with that!

Saturday morning was clear and bright. Laurel had been hoping against hope that it would be raining, and she could therefore have an excuse to beg off from the drive. But the sun shone gorgeously, and old Crimson Mountain, still regal in her display of flame and gold, beamed down upon the little town at her feet as if she were doing them a favor to keep her pretty robes on so long when the time of year had come that she might have put them off.

Laurel stood by her window and gazed on the rich display of color, thanking God for its beauty. She had not yet done anything about changing her boarding place, partly because of that wonderful view. She could not bear to miss a day of it. There might be other places in town from which you could see Crimson Mountain as well as from that window of hers, but she hadn’t found any yet. And the young men who were purported to be desiring that room for the winter had not yet materialized, so she had let the matter ride. It wasn’t yet a week since she came, not till Saturday night, and the Price woman had said nothing more to her, so she felt fairly safe about it. But anyway, when she came back from that ride with Adrian she would spend Saturday afternoon looking up another possible place, so if her room was demanded she could get out in a hurry.

And then, just a little before ten o’clock, the mail arrived and brought her a nice thick letter from Pilgrim’s camp. She was glad she had gone downstairs, because otherwise Byrger would have had the first handling of the mail. She had noticed that he was generally on hand when the postman came. But the mail had arrived unusually early this morning, and she had the opportunity to find her own letter before he appeared on the scene. She slipped it quickly into her handbag and then went out to the front porch to await Adrian’s coming.

He was not long in arriving. Byrger was still immersed in his own letters, sitting in the office in his favorite chair, poring over a closely written letter, not aware that Laurel was on the front porch.

So it was that he missed entirely seeing Faber’s luxurious car drive up and take in the girl that he had resolved to watch carefully this morning.

Laurel hadn’t even opened her letter yet, and it was annoying to see Adrian when she had been counting on a few minutes to herself to read it. But she put down the thought, tucked a handkerchief carefully about the letter, and snapped the clasp of her handbag sharply. That letter would be something to come back to when this ride was over. Better get it over as soon as possible.

So when she caught the flash of the distinguished-looking car driving toward the house, she hurried down the walk and was already at the gateway as it stopped.

Adrian’s haughtiness relaxed. He was pleased that she had not kept him waiting.

“Well, you’re ready bright and early,” he said, swinging open the car door and helping her in before Mrs. Price could rush from the kitchen to see what car was stopping before her door and before Carl Byrger was aware that his bird had flown.

“Didn’t you bring an overnight bag?” questioned Faber. “Have you nothing with you but your coat?”

“That’s all,” said Laurel, smiling. “I must be back early. I have a lot to do this afternoon.”

“Yes?” drawled Faber, as if he had inside information that didn’t fit with that. “Well, we’ll see, after you’ve seen what I have to show you. I think you will sing a different tune, little lady. However, I suppose you can easily borrow what you need.”

“Why, if I need anything, of course,” said Laurel amusedly. “You never think I mean what I say, do you, Adrian? But I assure you I am quite changed now that I’m a working woman. And if you have any such ideas as changing my plans and getting me back too late to carry them out, why you better take me back at once, for I’m telling you I can’t
possibly
be late coming home.”

“Oh, all right,” said the young man in an evasive tone, “we won’t talk about that yet,” and he stepped on the gas and fairly flew over the road on a new route that was not at all familiar to Laurel.

“Why, where is this?” she asked, looking about her. “I don’t recall this road at all,” as he veered directly away from the main highway that went through Carrollton. “It must be a new road. How pretty it is here.”

“It
is
a new road,” said Faber. “I thought you would like this. There is a view of the river a little farther on that is most picturesque. I was hoping you hadn’t been here and I might have the first privilege of showing it to you.”

“Why, I’m delighted to see it,” said Laurel politely, wishing secretly that she might have had a chance to read just a few words of her letter before they had started. She did so want to know if Pilgrim was to be sent far away soon. But she talked on about the lovely road, as they went mile after mile into a region of magnificent estates that she had never dreamed were in this vicinity. Lovely new houses built with curious architecture, beautiful grounds ablaze with autumn flowers, curving drives brought out by trees and shrubbery that were calculated to be a setting for seclusion and beauty. Now and then a clubhouse and golf grounds spoke of wealth and aristocracy. And as the way wound on, she wondered where she was being taken, until at last the car suddenly turned into a great stone driveway and swept up to a building entirely hidden from the road and most attractive in its appearance. Big stone arches curved about walls that seemed to belong to some castle of old.